Sir Henry was apparently relieved to see his visitor.
He pushed a chair towards him and indicated with
a gesture of invitation a box of cigars upon his desk.

“Your little Laranagas,” he observed.
“Try one.”

The visitor opened the box, sniffed at its contents,
and helped himself.

“Now, then, get at it, Henry,” he enjoined.
“I’ve a Board in half-an-hour, and three
dispatches to read before I go in. What’s
your trouble?”

“Look here, Rayton,” was the firm reply,
“I want to chuck this infernal hole-and-corner
business. I tell you I’ve worked it threadbare
at Dreymarsh and it’s getting jolly uncomfortable.”

The newcomer grinned.

“Poor chap!” he observed, watching his
cigar smoke curl upwards. “You’re
in a nasty mess, you know, Henry. Did I tell
you that I had a letter from your wife the other day,
asking me if I couldn’t find you a job?”

Sir Henry waited a little grimly, whilst his friend
enjoyed the joke.

“That’s all very well,” he said,
“but we are on the point of a separation, or
something of the sort. I’ll admit it was
all right at first to run the thing on the Q.T., but
that’s pretty well busted up by now. Why,
according to your own reports, they know all about
me on the other side.”

“Not a doubt about it,” the other agreed.
“I’m not sure that you haven’t
got a spy fellow down at Dreymarsh now.”

“I’m quite sure of it,” Sir Henry
replied grimly. “The brute was lunching
with my wife at the Carlton to-day, and, as luck would
have it, I was landed with that Russian Admiral’s
wife and sister-in-law. You’re breaking
up the happy home, that’s what you’re
doing, Rayton!”

His lordship at any rate seemed to find the process
amusing. He laughed until the tears stood in
his eyes.

“I should love to have seen Philippa’s
face,” he chuckled, “when she walked into
the restaurant and saw you there! You’re
supposed to be off on a fishing expedition, aren’t
you?”

“I went out after whiting,” Sir Henry
groaned, “and I’d just promised to chuck
it for a time when I got the Admiral’s message.”

“Well, we’ll see to your German spy, anyway,”
his visitor promised.

“Don’t be an ass!” Sir Henry exclaimed
irritably. “I don’t want the fellow
touched at present. Why, he’s been a sort
of persona grata at my house. Hangs around there
all the time when I’m away.”

“All the more reason for putting an end to his
little game, I should say,” was the cheerful
reply.

“And have the whole neighbourhood either laughing
at my wife and Miss Fairclough, or talking scandal
about them!” Sir Henry retorted.

“I forgot that,” his friend confessed
ruminatively. “He’s a gentlemanly
sort of fellow, from what I hear, but a rotten spy.
What do you want done with him?”